


Animalis Revelare

by LadyBlack3



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animal Transformation, F/F, Gen, Investigations, Transfiguration (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:41:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23127193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBlack3/pseuds/LadyBlack3
Summary: When she began working for the Quibbler, Daphne never thought she would one day resort to measures similar to those the dreaded Rita Skeeter did. But what was she to do with a serial killer on the loose?
Comments: 25
Kudos: 31
Collections: Transfiguration: 2020 Round One





	Animalis Revelare

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DBQ2020Round1](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DBQ2020Round1) collection. 



> The characters do not belong to me but are property of J.K.R. and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended. The theme for this round of the competition was Transfiguration and my chosen pairing was Daphne Greengrass/Hermione Granger. 
> 
> Comments/Reviews are encouraged by The Slytherin Cabal's Admin Team on all stories in Death by Quill, but comments left by readers are set to be moderated by story authors until the end of the competition in order to protect participants' anonymity.

She stood still, looking at the large cork board in front of her. Something didn’t fit. Her gaze flicked back up to the top of the board at the line up of four moving photographs. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought they were sisters.

Four women.

All five-foot-five, maybe five-foot-six inches tall. No taller, no shorter.

All brunettes, with thick dark locks that reached somewhere between their shoulder blades and the middle of their backs. No longer, no shorter.

All had brown eyes, from a lighter whiskey and hazel shades to dark brown tones.

All were witches with promising magical talent. Neither prodigy, nor ordinary.

All were younger than twenty eight years of age. 

That had set the panic in deeper for many. Their society was still recovering seven years after the war and to have four witches of child-bearing age killed was certainly not improving their chance at repopulating the British Magical community. The DMLE was in a state, trying to figure out what to do next and how to deal with this phenomenon. She knew that was the case because one of the newer aurors was her ‘confidential source’ for reference in her articles.

They managed to survive two magical wars that decimated their population and left behind a deep desire to preserve their culture, mend community relationships to prevent further discord, and innovate to accommodate the fast pace of muggle culture and tech. Of course like any society, the crimes they often wrote about ranged from theft and misuse of magic to murder, but the more severe crimes were not quite as common now in time of peace.

The four victims smiling at her from the photographs on her board were however a pattern, and that only meant one thing. A serial killer. The last known serial killer was recorded in 1990, just before they went to Hogwarts and Voldemort resurfaced from hiding. This was however the first time one cropped up since 1998, and it was causing a panic.

“Any news?” a familiar voice asked from the doorway and Daphne turned around to look at the eccentric blonde.

She shook her head. “I’m looking for a link but there isn’t much. They didn’t know each other, nor did their partners. Two of them worked at the Ministry, the other two with services commissioned by the Ministry. So that’s something, I guess. But that’s hardly anything to go by, and I refuse to be the next Rita Skeeter,” she said pointedly.

The reputational damage Skeeter and her trash news had done to journalism and the information sector was difficult to repair, despite the just punishment she received after the war. Daphne didn’t only want to do better, she wanted to be the best investigative journalist in the country, and inform people about the real causes instead of just churning out half-truth news articles. It was one of the reasons why she worked with Luna Lovegood of all people. Following Xenophilius’ passing, Luna built the reputation of Quibbler as more than an eccentric magazine, and turned it into a weekly subscription with political and socio-economic commentary, highlighting the plight of magical creatures and beings, and championing integration. It was an easy choice between working for the Prophet and the Quibbler in the end. She had relative freedom about her topics, and Luna valued her keen eye for detail. Which is why this case was so frustrating. She chose to investigate this, and there was nothing coherent to latch onto in sight. 

Luna’s smile widened. “Perhaps not, but you have something Rita didn’t have - a cute bushy tail!” she tittered before disappearing down the hall.

Daphne’s head dropped into her hands and she silently count to ten to avoid strangling her employer for her abhorrent sense of humour.

* * *

She pinned the latest photograph next to the six others already lining the top of the board, seeing the slight shift from plain and brown looking to a bit more heart shaped faces, and thicker, wavy hair. Curious, it was like seeing someone’s dating preferences shifting over time, though she very much realised the significant sinister nature of this preference change. He was developing. The methods he used to kill were all manual, hands on, he liked to be in control, he was getting a taste for it. Sever murders and they still had no relevant leads it seems. 

Just as she planned to review the murder sites for any geographical data, a raven tapped onto her window, a small neat scroll tucked against its leg. She gently petted his midnight fathers before removing the small piece of parchment which held only five words in a hasty scribble:

_Potential next target - Hermione Granger_

Daphne folded the small parchment and chucked it into the comforting fire already stoked in her fireplace. Her unseeing gaze looked into the flames as she quickly considered her options. Hermione Granger fit the profile of the previous victims, though why anyone would go after one of the most powerful witches in their country, she had no idea.

Her gaze flicked up to the board and she shuddered. Brunette, five foot five, whiskey eyes, magically talented. She was easily the only one who could be called a prodigy out of the line up, especially at how fast she managed to rise to be the Deputy-Head of the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Then again, it appeared the murderer’s tastes were escalating. Perhaps he craved a challenge, and Merlin knew Hermione Granger would be a prize for him.

Would the aurors interfere? They may notify her and keep an eye on her flat but any obvious action would scare the murderer away, and they were getting desperate to catch him due to the massive public outcry. Was there scope for her to do a bit of her own investigating? It wasn’t ethical and if Granger found out, she would be seriously pissed. Daphne could even be charged for invasion of privacy…it was nearly as bad as what Skeeter did, spying on the Golden Trio. But was it worth it? Deciding to go with her journalistic instinct, she knew the answer already. And she could technically be another element of protection in case she was attacked…

Resolved, she notified Luna of her plan to work out of the office for a few days and packed up, her destination clear. 

* * *

Thankful for the dark dank weather, she crouched behind one of the bins in the alley and breathed deeply, focusing on the spell to transfigure herself into her target form. It started as a trickle of cold water before waking up and sizzling hotly up her spine. It was then that she opened her eyes and bent her flexible back, stretching out her furry limbs and flexible joints that haven’t had a chance to flex in a while. Frowning at the rain, she dashed from behind the bin and towards the street, huddling up near a bush not far from the house that was listed as Granger’s residence. Soon the sound of court shoes approaching made her pointed ears perk up and she turned her head towards it, the mass of frizzy damp curly hair waving around her shoulders betraying the approaching witch. 

She tried to make the most pitiful sound she thought her feline throat was capable of, repeating it several times as the witch approached. 

Hermione’s headache was certainly something for the history books but the sight of her home and the prospect of a hot cup of tea were helping her tense shoulders relax. Despite the patter of rain, she frowned at the sound of animal in distress. But where was it coming from? She paused, listening out for it before spotting the source of it - a small sweet cat with a beautiful grey coat, trembling in the cool wind, only shielded by some overhanging branches of a bush.

“Hello little one,” Hermione crouched down and slowly extended her hand toward the beautiful feline, a pair of brilliant orange eyes observing her every movement skittishly. She touched the soft fur atop the cat’s head and received a cute little chirrup in response. “Where did you come from? Want to come with me, somewhere nice and warm?” she offered, seeing the shivering getting worse.

Since the cat appeared quite meek, she put her umbrella and used her scarf to pick it up carefully and held it close to her robes, shielded from the rain as she walked the last few steps to her home. A quick towel dry, a few heating spells and a bowl of diluted milk later, she watched as the pretty Chartreux stretched out and discovered her living room.

 _This place smells nice…hmmmm….of course it looks like a library….oooh yarn!_ Being able to shift form had many benefits, and despite the difficult process and need for advance transfiguration knowledge, it has saved her hide many a times. With the perks however came the distractions of being in an animal form and some of the sensations and senses that came with it. 

Before she could swipe at the yarn, a pair of warm hands lifted her up and Granger was chuckling at her. “Not those, I just got them. I promise to get you a new one, just for you, tomorrow,” she gently rubbed the cat’s cheek, smiling when a rumbling purr resonated from the soft furry chest.“What a beautiful girl you are. I’ve been looking for a new companion, my Crooks sadly left me about a year ago. Poor thing, he was quite old. I think we could be friends, hm?” she asked when the cat curled up in her lap and blinked at her contentedly.

_This assignment definitely had it purrrrks…._

* * *

It has been eight days since she took the stake out position with Granger and there has been absolutely no sign or an attempt at a break-in or other danger. Perhaps it was time to give up the ghost and head home, though a part of her was getting quite comfortable in Granger's home. It was always warm, everything was soft and comfortable, she even had a had-knitted blanket in a nook by the fire where she could sleep and keep an eye out on the room. And while she certainly wasn't used to kibble even in her cat form, the salmon and spirulina flavoured biscuits were nothing to turn her cute little nose at.

A part of her felt guilty though, spying this way at the formidable witch. She politely pretended to be kneading a blanket and looking at her feet when she came down in her underwear earlier, not bothering to tie the sash of her cinnamon coloured kimono. Who knew that under all that prim and proper pencil skirts and blouses hid burgundy silk or black lace. Her tail flicked and she tried to stem her natural reaction to purr at the thought of the brunette. Maybe she could ask her out? They were both notoriously single, though for different reasons. Daphne knew there was a real chance the blood curse that plagued her family only remained dormat for the moment. Unlike Astoria, she wasn't planning to get married and weakened by a pregnancy. Besides, she never really had a clear preference either way. Granger was practically married to her work, never seen on a date with anyone. Everyone suspected she would marry someone from the Ginger brood but that appeared to have fizzled out rather quickly. Was she even anything but straight? Daphne wasn't sure, maybe Luna would know but it would be just too damn embarrassing to ask, and she had her pride... some of it at least.

She was roused from her musings by a shift in the atmosphere of the room. Something didn’t feel right, she felt...muted somehow. What in the world?

It was then that she saw a man stepping in through the glass door leading to the garden. He was wearing dark clothing, though she couldn't make out whether black or otherwise. And covering his head and face was a dark balaclava, only a pair of vivid blue eyes visible through the two small cut out holes.

Daphne felt every hair in her coat rise in response to the malevolent presence, and closed her eyes in preparation to shift into her human body by casting the wandless reversal spell. She had done it many a time and it nearly never failed her. She could easily apprehend him with a stunner when his back was turned to her once back into her human skin.

Nothing.

She felt panic rising inside, frantically focusing on the transfiguration exercise. Melting of the little toes and claws into feet and stretching of the limbs...

Nothing.

She was unable to shift. With horror, she realised that the feeling she experienced earlier was a magic dampening ward, making her feel muted.That’s why there were no magical signs or signatures at the crime scene, he was killing them hands on, the muggle way. She couldn’t let that happen to Granger.

He was already walking up the stairs to Granger’s bedroom, so she followed him silently without making a noise, glad to not be collared with any jingles just yet. She was silent and stealthy. He left the bedroom door open and she quickly slipped in, moving to the side of the bed, out of sigh and ready to jump up when the time was right. 

In the yellow light from a lamp by the house that managed to get through the wooden shutters she could see Hermione sleeping peacefully, and a gleam of a sharp weapon appear in the man's hand as he prepared to lean above her. This was it, he was going to attack.

She jumped up onto the bedpost and with a loud hiss to warn the still-sleeping woman caught the surprised attacker with her claws right in the eye.He let out an agonised shriek and dropped the knife, trying to pry her small furry body off him. His hands pulled on her fur and one of his beefy fingers dug into her side and she felt something give, yowling in pain as she jumped off him in panic.

The groan of wood and a deafening smash followed, and she turned around just in time to see the man lying still and unconscious, trapped underneath one of the tall, slim shelves of books Hermione kept in her room.

Something in the house shifted and she felt her magic activating forcefully, like being plunged into a pool of freezing water. She was jolted out of her small body without any need for the transfiguration exercise once the wards of the house kicked back in fully, and found herself back in her human form, kneeling on the floor and clutching her side in pain. She must have at least one broken rib, possibly two.

She heard the sharp intake of breath from above her and looked up at the stunned brunette. “Greengrass?!”

_Well, fuck._


End file.
